Timber Valley Pack: Lynx On The Loose( A Paranormal Romance With Shifters) (4 page)

She could only hope that he’d be able to give her what she needed.

“We can take you to him tomorrow. Early is best, because he heads out in the morning to hunt,” Thomas said.

That worked for Isadora. She needed to catch up on some sleep anyway.

She fished around in her purse and pulled out a pack of wet wipes. “Wash your faces and hands,” she said, tossing the pack to Thomas.

“What!” Thomas let out an indignant squawk.

“You heard me. There’s a McDonald’s up ahead. I am not buying you lunch until you clean up.”

“McDonald’s!” Sally cheered, grabbed the pack of wet wipes, and began scrubbing at her face.

“Why should we clean up?” Thomas’s voice had taken on a sullen whine.

“Because I said so,” Isadora said, and then remembered how much she hated it when her mother said that. “And also because it helps you fit in, which helps keep you safe and also makes it easier to spy on people.”

“What do you mean?” Now Thomas was intrigued rather than sullen.

“When people look on you as an outsider, they don’t let you get close to them, and they’re watching you all the time, expecting the worst from you. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. So when you want to blend in and not attract any attention, you have to look like them and act like them. If you look dirty, wear dirty clothes and smell bad, shifters think you’re a Hobo, and humans think you’re trailer trash. Either way, you’ve just made it so everybody is watching you all the time.”

“That’s true,” Thomas said thoughtfully. He grabbed a wipe and began scrubbing. “Sometimes I need to kind of, you know, borrow a new laptop so I can get online, and it’s hard because security guards are always watching me. And Sally and me can’t go into any human towns or cities too much, because sometimes humans want to call welfare services on us.”

“That’s because they think you’re homeless.  I’ll buy you both some new clothes today,” Isadora said. “I passed a clothing store a few miles back. Trust me, you’ll feel like a new man.”

              The Mosswood’s three story colonial style home loomed high, bigger than all the other houses in their subdivision.  It was far more house than they needed for themselves and their daughter Diana, who still lived with them. Dash suspected it was meant to make a statement to all the other homes in their ritzy neighborhood, and the statement went something like “We’re richer than you. Suck it.” Except it would be phrased in much more elegant terms.

As Dash and Warden Redthorne walked up the driveway, he was careful not to tread on the perfectly manicured lawn.  The hedges were trimmed so precisely they looked as if they were made of plastic.   He was tempted to touch one and see if they were.

              It was impossible to imagine the free-spirited Isadora growing up in this big, imposing house.

              He’d been asked to come along because he’d had so many dealings with Isadora in the past couple of years that for some reason Redthorne seemed to think he might have special insight into her. 

After they entered the mudroom and scraped their shoes across the rough carpet, a maid led them into a living room with a vaulted ceiling.

              The man and woman who sat on the couch resembled Isadora physically.  Dash could see where Isadora got her large green eyes, her small nose, her pale skin, the tilt of her eyebrows. The resemblance ended there.

              He’d never seen Isadora without a mischievous gleam in her eyes. The woman sitting on the couch shared none of Isadora’s wicked sense of fun; she had a pinched expression of disapproval, and the man with her was scowling and angry. The Chief Elder of the Council Pride, a lion shifter named Hartley Blazetail, sat on a nearby chair. He was an older man in his seventies, with silver hair and a stern demeanor.  The Mosswoods were trying to send a message, obviously: We’re well connected, don’t mess with us.

              “Mr. and Mrs. Mosswood, thank you for agreeing to see us.” Warden Redthorne inclined his head politely. “Any information that you could give us about Isadora would be most helpful.”

              They managed pained smiles, which vanished instantly.

              “We haven’t heard from her, as we already told you on the phone,” Mr. Mosswood said, a look of disapproval creasing his face.

              “So, I imagine you’ll head back home now,” Mrs. Mosswood added quickly.

              Mr. Mosswood frowned. “We should remember our manners and at least offer them a beverage.” But he didn’t go so far as to actually offer them a beverage.

              Dash glanced around the pristine interior. White sofa, white carpet, furniture and fabric in tones of white and gray.

              “Is this where Isadora grew up?” he asked.

              Mrs. Mosswood managed a small grimace of distaste. “So to speak, although she rarely came in the house. Such a terribly untidy child. We told her not to come inside if she was going to make a mess, so she’d just sleep outside in the trees half the time.  Always preferred to spend her time outside, doing heaven knows what with heaven knows who.”

              “I can imagine,” Dash muttered. He shuddered at the thought of growing up in that house. He was an only child, but his parents had the kind of house where everyone on the street loved to hang out.  It was messy, it was cluttered, it was comfortable.  It always smelled like just baked cookies. The air in the Mosswood’s house was heavily frosted with air freshener and smelled icy and unwelcoming.

              “What?” Mrs. Mosswood cocked her head.

              Warden Redthorne shot him a look, then turned to Mrs. Mosswood.

              “Who did Isadora hang out with?” one of the Wardens asked.

              “I just told you. I have no idea. Dreadful hooligan types. I certainly wouldn’t have let her friends on our property, much less in our house, so I never met them. So different than our other daughter. It’s hard to believe Isadora’s related to us.”

              She gestured at a silver-framed picture of their daughter Diana, which adorned their flagstone fireplace. She looked like a cleaned up version of Isadora, smiling smugly at the camera, with a string of pearls around her neck. To his surprise, Dash realized that all the pictures on the fireplace were either Diana, or the Mosswoods and Diana. Isadora wasn’t featured in a single picture.

              What the hell kind of family had Isadora grown up in?

              Dash found himself growing angry on her behalf. He thought about the Battle family’s property, where he and his pack mates had grown up. Plenty of their family members had their odd quirks, but they were all loved, fiercely and protectively.

              “Where are your pictures of Isadora?” Dash asked, just to make them uncomfortable.  When Mrs. Mosswood flushed and scowled at him, he flashed an ingratiating smile and added  “We’d like to have more pictures to send out to other agencies. Might increase the chances of someone recognizing her.”

              The Mosswoods glanced at each other and then glanced back at Dash. “We might have some in the garage,” Mrs. Mosswood said, her face pinched as if she’d smelled something bad. “When Isadora moved out…well, she never really liked being in pictures anyway.”

              “We always offered her the chance to be in our family photographs.” Mr. Mosswood glowered defensively. “All that she had to do was dress appropriately.”

              And if she didn’t, she was excluded, Dash imagined.

              “Can you get those pictures?” Warden Redthorne asked.

              “Which pictures?” Mrs. Mosswood looked bewildered.

              “The ones that you just said were in the garage.” Now his tone had an edge to it. “We need them. We want to circulate as many pictures as possible.”

              “Can’t we just keep this quiet? It’s terribly embarrassing for us. You say she’s accused of treason.  What has she done, specifically?” Mr. Mosswood asked.

              “No, we can’t keep it quiet, and we’re not at liberty to give out any more details of what she’s done,” Chief Warden Redthorne said.

              Mrs. Mosswood cast a beseeching gaze at Chief Elder Blazetail. “Hartley…”

              However, in a case like this, even her wealth and influence only went so far. If Isadora was collaborating with humans to help kidnap shifters, she had to be stopped, and the whole sordid affair couldn’t be swept under the rug, no matter how much the Mosswoods might wish it.

              “Mrs. Mosswood, I know how difficult this is for you,” Blazetail said soothingly. “The faster she’s taken into custody, the faster this whole thing can be put behind you.”

              “Very well,” Mrs. Mosswood said with distaste.

              The Mosswoods stood up, and moved stiffly towards the garage. 

              “We’ll accompany you,” Warden Redthorne said.

              “That won’t be necessary.” She shot him a look as if he’d just tracked wolf doo doo into the house.

              “But we will anyway.”

              She looked at Blazetail again.

              “I’m sure they don’t need any assistance,” Blazetail protested.

              “I run my investigations as I see fit. I’m sure that your Pride Patrol does the same,” Warden Redthorne said coldly.

              Blazetail hesitated, and then nodded at the Mosswoods. “Just let them do what they need to do, Mrs. Mosswood, and then they can be on their way.”

              Dash and Warden Redthorne followed the Mosswoods out to their garage. It was pristine, and there were four cars parked there. A Ferrari, two Beamers, and a Porsche.

              There were no boxes anywhere.  The Mosswoods stood there, glancing around uneasily, their faces flushed with humiliation.  It was clear that they’d lied, and they had no pictures of Isadora to share.

              “I could have sworn we had some old boxes of Isadora’s things,” Mrs. Mosswood muttered.

              “Really? It’s hard to picture any old boxes in this house.” Redthorne shot her a reproving look. Dash barely managed to suppress a smile. Redthorne could be a real hardass, but sometimes he was actually quite all right. Like now.

              “We’d like to look at her bedroom,” Dash said.

              “Oh, we converted that to a guest room as soon as she moved out.”

              “Where do you send her money?” Dash asked. “What bank does it go to? We know she gets an allowance from you.”

              The Mosswood’s glanced at each other.

              “We cut her off months ago,” Mr. Mosswood said.

              Now that was news. “Why?” Dash asked.

              “We told her that now that her sister was getting married, she needed to clean up her act.  We gave her the choice of dressing and behaving in a more appropriate fashion, and associating with a more appropriate crowd, or never receiving another cent from us. She said she hoped Diana had a lovely wedding, and hung up on me. We haven’t spoken to her since. That was six months ago.”

              Mrs. Mosswood let out a self-righteous sniff.

              Dash and Loren glanced at each other.

              That is odd, Dash thought.  Isadora didn’t have a job that he knew of. He’d always thought of her as a poor little rich girl.  She just…what did she do, exactly? She went to the local bars and nightclubs. She travelled fairly often, he didn’t know where. She’d just suddenly disappear from town for a week or two, and then she’d be there again. He didn’t know what she did with the rest of her time, but he knew she didn’t have a job…so where was the money coming from?

              “She’s been nothing but a disappointment to us since she was a little girl,” Mrs. Mosswood said indignantly as they walked back through the living room.

              “Yes, and you made sure you let her know that, every minute of every day, didn’t you?” Dash couldn’t hold himself back any more. “No wonder she never wanted to set paw in this house.”

              He turned and stalked out of the house, with Loren at his heels.

              “What the hell was that?” Loren demanded.

              “Can you imagine growing up with those assholes as your parents?” Dash demanded heatedly. “Sir,” he added.

              “Thankfully, no, my parents weren’t born with sticks up their asses or a silver spoon in their mouth.” Loren’s stern face actually cracked into a brief smile. Then his usual stone-faced demeanor returned. “Since when were you Isadora Mosswood’s champion?  She goes out of her way to aggravate you specifically.”

              She did, didn’t she? Dash sighed heavily.

              “She very likely sold out her own kind for money,” Loren pointed out. “Especially if her parents cut her off.”

              Unfortunately, things were looking worse and worse for Isadora.

              “We should look through her bank statements,” Dash said, a feeling of gloom settling over him. “Maybe we could trace any unusual deposits.”

              When they got back to Warden Redthorne’s office and had their IT guru access her bank account, however, they didn’t see any withdrawals or deposits from the last six months.

              They called her landlady, who told them that she’d always paid on time, and in cash.

              Who lived on a cash only basis and always had plenty of money even though they had no known income? Criminals, that’s who.

              Dash’s heart sank. It was looking worse and worse for Isadora.